I never thought I would say this, especially this time:
Putting the funeral for Dad together might have been the best thing to help me achieve some sort of peace with his death.
This isn’t the first eulogy, or funeral, that I’ve had to help arrange. I had almost zero input on my mom’s funeral in 2004, and spent half of it on Xanax.
For the remainder, I’ve been the steadying person with gentle words and advice. Advice I didn’t really absorb, at the time.
As I addressed my family, and his friends, getting to talk about the man I knew – and fucking DIDN’T know, in so many aspects – was as much to honor my memory of him as I could.
“Each person here, I guarantee, knows at least two things more about my father than I do, and likely never will.” It wasn’t that he was secretive – only that he was not COMMUNICATIVE.
Even in the last year, as we made attempts to reconnect, I would sense he was just not in the mood to let loose with things. I accepted it – this was the most we had talked in our entire lives.
Now, it’s just me, a couple of aunts, and a smattering of cousins. That’s the extent of my family. My step-sister is interested in connecting, and I’ll give it a go. Of course, my niece is a gem, and her family is wonderful.
Part of my brain knows this is the calm before the dam breaks, and I have something resembling a breakdown.
However, for today… I think I’m okay.
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